Anthem For A Hero
by Tatsumaki-sama
Summary: Because if it wasn't for Robin, they would all be dead, one way or another.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own Robin Hood or any of its characters.

Anthem For A Hero

He was a slave, alone and without a family. All that he carried with him was his name, a single precious luggage that managed to barely survive throughout the years, worn and tattered, given to him by his mother with her dying breath. He clung to it in a lasting hope, as a reminder of who he is, that he is not a witless savage and still wholly human.

Town to town, he was sold and bought, dragged to where his masters wanted him to be, not caring if he was hungry, cold or simply unloved. It was on that fateful day in Nottingham where he met his savior. He remembered that day very clearly, as if it had happened only yesterday, even remembering the number of raindrops that had splashed harshly on his head that day. He had been standing out in the rain, being punished by his current master for breaking some dishes, though no one believed that it was another servant who had tripped him in the first place. As he stood, shivering and angrily rubbing hot, salty tears from his face, another boy appeared before him.

Now this boy was different, that he could tell. He had a fair face with dark brown locks curling from his head, dried underneath a carefully hand-sewn cloak, with the look of one being adored and well-cared for clearly evident in his bright, lively eyes, something he so obviously lacked. But what truly made this young boy, who was perhaps the same age as him, so diverse from the other gloomy figures in the rain, was that the boy was looking at _him_. Not with scorn or repulsion, as the majority of the populace did at him, who couldn't help being scrawny and filthy. Not even with pity, as some did, though they offered no help other than their sympathies. The boy looked at him with curiosity, as if not quite understanding why he was standing in the rain without some sort of shelter for protection.

" Need a cloak?" he called out, his voice clear and loud. " You'll catch a cold if you don't have one."

Mutely, he shook his head, bemused at the benevolence of this stranger. Cocking his eyebrow (a trait that he would later be familiar with), the boy ignored his answer, coming right beside him, holding his cloak above them both. " My name is Robin," the boy cheerfully chattered away, disregarding his near skeletal figure. " What's yours?"

Finally! Someone who realized the importance of carrying a name. He nearly cried out in happiness as he stuttered to give his name. "Much. M' name's Much."

" _If it wasn't for you, Robin, I would__ have remained a nameless figure still standing in the rain.__"_

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There wasn't a single person in Locksley who did not worship and praise the name of Robin, their lord and master. There was simply something about him that commanded respect and admiration. One word or glance and all fear and worries would be wiped clean away. One smile and all women would fall hopelessly in love. He made sure that everyone in the village got a fair share of food and clothes, running back and forth making errands to ensure that every person has a warm blanket and meal for the night.

Things fell apart when he went away to another country, to fight in a war. And when the new Sheriff overpowered Sir Edward, his rule subduing and oppressing, it seemed that all hope was lost. Will himself endured through hard times as well. His mother died of starvation and he was forced to watch his father's hand brutally cut off from the body, when he and his brother had hunted some game. He'd seen the thin and forlorn faces of the villagers, barely any who can still remember the happier times when Robin was there. He wondered what had happened to those days.

But when Robin returned after his absence, directly challenging the Sheriff, there was a change in the people. There was hope again and laughter in the streets. Fathers commended and pronounced the name of Robin Hood and his merry men, encouraging his children to be like them. Mothers wove stories about the legendary tales of the hero who stole from the rich and gave to the poor. Children ran around, playing Robin Hood and his merry men, waving their toy bows and swords.

To Will, Robin was his rescuer in his time of need. He and his brother, along with Allan A Dale and another man, were to be hanged for injustice. That night he will never forget. His brother fastened onto him, sobbing and terrified of the prospect of death. As the older one, Will could do nothing except hold him, comforting him, also frightened himself. His hopes that Robin would save them were quickly dashed when he saw the somber look on his idol's face when he came to visit the jail. At that time, he thought that Robin had given up, subjecting to the Sheriff. And they would all die a painful death.

Fortunately, he was wrong.

" _If it wasn't for you, Robin, I would be hanged to death by the ignorance and cruelty of the Sheriff and his reign, silenced forever."_

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To tell the truth, he didn't liked Robin at first. Being born a person of low rank, John always viewed the rich and of authority with contempt. They were lazy and imperious, only caring for themselves, counting their money rather than helping their neighbors and peasants. He had no respect for the lord whose land he currently lived on, a person who barely allowed him to marry his beloved Alice at the cost of twenty pounds. It took him the hard work more than three years but it was worth it - anything was worth marrying Alice. However, his bitterness and resentment towards the rich only amplified. He won't be the servant of an undeserving man.

So it wasn't hard for him to also judge and discriminate Robin unkindly. Here was a man who symbolized what he stood and fought against, thriving in the very core of it. But there was something different about Robin. Yes, he was as cocky and arrogant as the next rich person. However, he used his rank and power for good, challenging the corrupted authority, breaking the rules he is supposed to uphold, fighting for justice, real justice that the government refuses to maintain.

Robin watched over the poor, giving them hope, something that not even food or shelter could possibly provide. And he certainly gave a healthy dose of it to John as well. When he saw Alice seized by the guards, one of them advancing with the shears to cut off her tongue, he was blinded by desperation and helplessness. The same thing happened when his son was arrested for trying to help someone. Without the slightest hesitation, Robin leaped into action, risking his life to save them, knowing how important they were to him. If it were not for his actions, Alice would be silenced forever and Little Little John in prison. And he? Probably overcome by rage and hatred for the Sheriff and recklessly charge into battle and blood to waste his life away.

Despite their age and interest differences, surprisingly, Robin and him got along fine. They loved to fight and compete against each other in friendly spars from time to time. Robin would look to John for advice and his opinion on how their missions should go, due to his experience in leading a group before. They respected each other and often agreed on certain terms. If anything went wrong, Robin knew he could trust John to handle things and deal with them accordingly and John wouldn't let him down.

There were times when Robin succeeded or triumphed, his chest would swell with pride and he would beam up at Robin, slapping him on the back or ruffling his hair. Like a father would to his son.

" _If it wasn't for you, Robin, I would have been left a dead person, wandering and roaming restlessly, never to find peace."_

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It had happened so unexpectedly and sudden that she had no time to react, least of all comprehend what it had meant. White-skinned men invaded and attacked her country, her home, destroying and taking what they pleased. If they resisted, they were killed, mercilessly left to rot on the sultry desert ground. If they surrendered, they were taken captive, dragged off, shackles cruelly placed on their necks, hands and feet. She saw her brother, family and friends murdered, slain by these men and she herself was carted off like an animal to become a slave in a foreign country.

The journey there was horrid. Many died of starvation and sickness. The tiny room was cramped and putrid. One can hear muttered prayers in the dark, mingling with screams and wails. By the time they reached the surprisingly beautiful land, embellished with green grass and trees and abundant with fresh clean air, their group was whittled down to a meager ten or less. As they slowly rolled closer and closer towards the dreaded mines, the little wagon halted, shuddering to a stop. Then, the canopy covering them was lifted and a man's face appeared. His eyes, shockingly intense and bold, gazed at her and she drew back, frightened a little by their fervor. But for some reason, she knew that he meant no harm to her or the others.

He set her free, breaking the chains, inviting her into the wonders of this land. How delighted was she to discover that he spoke her native language, the words flowing smoothly and effortlessly from his lips. He made her feel welcomed in the gang, showing her around the camp and forest, revealing what beauty this place had to offer. And Robin, proficient and educated, began giving her English lessons (often accompanied by many eager learners), commencing with the grandeur of writing. Even now, Djaq couldn't possibly understand how Robin does it, how he is able to spin words onto the small piece of parchment with such care and delicacy. Their two and a half hour lessons go by too quickly.

She did harbor a little crush on him in the beginning. It wasn't that hard. He had the charm, the smiles, the words. Any sensible girl would fall head over heels within seconds of his monumental presence. But she'd seen the serene gazes and glamorous smiles Robin only reserved for Lady Marian, the way his face lit up when he saw her, the way he _glowed_ when he returned from one of his trips to Knighton Hall. And she can understand why. Marian was beautiful, ebony locks completed with her cream-colored face and cherry lips, her determined and compassionate personality matching her loveliness point for point. There was no way she could rival against that.

But no matter what, she will always love him as a friend and brother.

" _If it wasn't for you, Robin, I would still be__ a slave, oblivious to the kindness of Englishmen."_

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It never really made any sense to him. Robin had everything a man could hope for: money, lands, looks, the girl and yet, he abandoned them to help the poor.

He owed his life to a stranger, a hooded man in a forest with a good eye and hand. He recognized that voice the moment he heard it again in the prison (he would have recognized that voice anywhere, anytime), except this time, his rescuer revealed himself to be Robin, lord of Locksley. He inwardly laughed out loud. He got saved by a nobleman. Now he knew for sure there won't be a second deliverance. Robin was bound by rules and regulations. He was trapped like the rest of them, like rats in a sinking ship. There was no way to talk his way out of it or shoot arrows at the guards like Robin did before, so Allan quietly accepted his fate. Suddenly, losing a hand or finger didn't seem so bad.

Still, as he laid in the cold, grimy floor of the dungeon, he couldn't help but hope to see Robin come to rescue one more time, stepping out from the shadows like a wraith, to save him one more time. Maybe that's why he wasn't as shocked as the others when Robin did save them and at his first chance, he joined the outlaws. He was already a half-outlaw, him being a liar and thief. He had the talents and skills for it, finally able to put them to good use. He was the best pocket thief of the gang and he could always sweet-talk his way through anything. For once in his life, he felt that he accomplished something worthwhile.

The feeling of belonging was something he never did understand but gladly accepted. Before, he could only depend on himself and his wits to get out of any sticky situations. Now, Robin was there for him and he for Robin. Robin was someone he could rely on, a person he trusted with his life and more. Robin could care less what kind of person Allan was before he had met him. All that matter was that he was a man willing to sacrifice a little for people who had less.

But that alone wasn't the reason why Allan helped the poor. He could do that blindfolded with both hands tied behind his back. The reason? If asked, he would chuckle, rub the back of his head and shrug.

" _If it wasn't for you, Robin,__ I would continue being an ignorant fool who didn't know what it meant to call another 'friend'."_

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If there could be one word that could possibly contain all that Robin Hood is to her, Marian would claim that Robin Hood is love. He speaks of it, listens to it, thrives in it, embellishes in it, lives by it and overflows with it. It is his greatest strength and his greatest weakness. It is because of love, _his_ love for the people, that he has become an outlaw, a thorn to the Sheriff and the Black Knights, and a glorified hero to the people.

She knew Robin as a child, bright, curious and lively. She knew Robin as a teenager, bold, strong and devious. She knew Robin as a young man, handsome, headstrong and cocky. She knew him as a crying boy, standing at his father's funeral. She knew him as an invincible fighter, winning all the competitions at the spring festival. She knew him as her betrothed, offering her a simple yet beautiful ring in marriage.

They were what the villagers called childhood sweethearts. As kids, they played in the mud, climbed up trees, built snow forts and swam in the nearby lake. But all of that was in the past. They were no longer kids, leaving their childish games behind. As they grew into adulthood, she jealously watched whenever he flirted with the other village girls, easily charming them. Nevertheless, she always feels a sense of superiority and pride when Robin came exclusively to her bedroom window, reserving his most sweetest, alluring smiles only for her.

It was needless to say her heart broke the day he left her for some war. She cursed him, condemning him for leaving her in a life without him. She vowed to forget about his seductive smiles, his soft gazes, his tender kisses, casting the shuddering memory of them far, banishing them from the depths of her mind. In her frantic attempt to rid herself of his lingering presence, Marian trained and practiced, throwing herself obsessively into the heat of it. Shrouding her emotions, she became the Nightwatchman to fight against the Sheriff from the shadows and protect the people. She had become so absorbed in her secretive life that she wasn't prepared for him to stumble into her life again.

Robin was just as conceited and beguiling as ever. Not even five years of war and battle could wither that characteristic away from him. She reminded herself that she hated him and no words or smile could change that fact. Even when her throat went dry and her heart beat wildly against her chest, she told herself she would not allow herself to fall in love with the same man, knowing that he was a dangerous card to be playing with. As he bravely defiled the Sheriff, freeing the four wrongly accused men, she silently envied him for doing what she couldn't. But still, she wasn't one damsel in distress. In a fluid movement, she yanked out her hairpin, accurately hurling it at the guard about to fire an arrow at him.

He glanced up, astounded. She merely replied with a raised eyebrow, similar to a favored action of his, before turning around. She could feel his smile burning at the back of her head as she left. Even though he couldn't see it, she smiled in return.

" _If it wasn't for you, Robin,__ I would have never figured out what it truly meant to love someone, someone who was the very emblem of love himself."_

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That's what they all whispered and pleaded to a feverish Robin, who twisted in his sleep and mumbled to invisible things who did not exist. Djaq cleaned his wounds as best as she could, but even she could not prevent infection from settling in, ruthlessly stealing rest and sense away from him. He moaned, clawing at his blankets, seeking escape from the sweltering heat that gripped him. He cried out for them, his voice hoarse and weak with fatigue, their names rolling off his parched tongue, while they, utterly helpless, watched.

So Will suggested that they speak to him, to let him hear their voices, to bring him back to the world of the living. For it was all they could do now. They each knelt beside Robin, clasping his hand tightly, brushing his sweat-soaked hair aside. They spoke to him, spoke about him. The others stood in the distance, silent and watching, waiting for their turn, all with the same wish. _Please don't die,_ they all silently begged to Robin. Because as Much have affirmed it so many times, if Robin died, they would died of grief, joining him in the other world.

Minutes crawled by, hours dragging by until the stars grew dim and dark and the morning sun yawned and gleamed over the trees. Birds chirped their daily song, darting from branch to branch. The trees bathed in the golden light, stretching and waking. The camp stirred, slowly awakening. Djaq, with dark circles under her eyes and with a jubilant smile, turned to the remaining outlaws, told them that Robin's fever had been broken.

Of course, when Robin woke up later that morning, awake albeit a little groggy, they all gleefully shouted, running and leaping. Much tackled his master, nearly overwhelmed by his tears. Will simply shook Robin's hand, a smile dancing across his features. Little John bellowed at all of them to be quiet, though he barely made an effort in his growl. Djaq struggled to pull Much off of Robin, grumbling despite the relief in her eyes. Allan sank to the ground, mumbling what a pain Robin was. Marian cried and laughed, hugging him, bestowing a kiss on his forehead. There was no shame in their actions.

After all, this was the man who saved their very souls.


End file.
